It Still Works
by purrpickle
Summary: Rachel is different than any of the girls Santana has met before, and it doesn't take her long to fall for her. Only thing is, there's something different about Santana herself other than the 'being from different cliques' thing, and she really, really hopes it won't prevent her from getting closer to the girl she wants. Nerd!Santana and goth!Rachel Pezberry that contains g!peen.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **I don't own Glee nor the characters within. This is a switched!New Directions fic. So far I've only decided on Rachel and Santana, but it very well may be that I decide to keep _all_ of the switches. We'll see.

Also, this is g!peen (seeing as this was inspired by a gif set on tumblr where it's nerd!Santana assuring goth!Rachel that she still has use of her penis). So if you don't like it, you can easily hit the back button. Thank you.

This is rated M because eventually this story _will _include 'adult stuff', and I don't want to bother having to upgrade the rating when it does happen. Anyway, on with the prologue~

* * *

Santana first noticed the goth girl the first week of freshman year. They shared a couple of classes, as well as her locker wasn't very far from Santana's, and it hadn't taken Santana very long to start following her with her eyes. Streaks of blue in her already fairly dark brown hair, heavy makeup around her eyes and a love of black and white clothing, she was different than any of the girls that had attended Santana's junior high.

Her name was Rachel Berry, and Santana fell hard.

The only thing left she had to figure out was how to do the first step: make contact. Because everything seemed stupid or pathetic or, honestly, creepy. And Santana didn't want to _scare _Rachel. Even if she wore the dark clothes and the dark makeup, it didn't mean that she was _really _a vampire or a worshipper of the dark arts. That was one of the things Santana was interested to find out about her, anyway.

The fifth time she had to speed up to avoid getting pushed aside by one of the jocks, unable to miss catching a face full of purple slushie, finally provided her with the perfect idea. So, blowing sodden bangs away from her glasses and scraping ice from her eyes, Santana turned towards the nearest bathroom, and planned how to put it into motion.

Two days later, she had finally decided it was time. Adjusting her glasses and smoothing her bangs with the tips of her fingers because she knew the palm of her bike gloves would only roughen them up, Santana took a deep breath and started wheeling her way down the hall. Making sure she wasn't going too fast, she slammed her hand down onto a wheel of her wheelchair as she let out a noise of surprise. Having successfully made it seem like she was swerving out of the way of someone, she came to an abrupt stop right in front of Rachel. "I'm sorry about that," she grimaced heavily, glaring at a poster across the hall behind her before turning back to meet wide black eyelined eyes, "But some of those jerks don't look down."

Rachel studied her, and Santana sat up straight, sucking in her stomach for better effect, trying to look innocent as she smoothed her expression into an apologetic, hopeful smile.

"Okay. Fine." Dark eyelashes closed as Rachel blinked, turning back to her locker before slanting her eyes back at Santana, "Are you all right?"

Santana nodded. "Are you? I didn't hit you, right?"

Pulling out a history textbook, Rachel shook her head, pushing blue-streaked hair behind her ear. She frowned. "You're… Santana, right?"

_Rachel knew who she was_. Santana grinned. "I am." Sticking her hand out, she held her breath; she knew that sometimes her gloves put a person off, but Rachel had often worn her own style of gloves so…

Rachel took her hand. "I'm Rachel," she shook firmly, shortly, smiling slightly, letting go and finishing zipping up her backpack, slinging it onto her back. Once done, she gazed at Santana neutrally, head tilted.

Santana stared back at her. Now that she was in Rachel's physical presence, her heart had sped up, and she didn't know quite what to say. But she had to do _something_ to chase away the beginnings of awkwardness. Wait… Didn't she and Rachel have the next class together?

They did. Santana adjusted her glasses again. "So…" she started, lifting her shoulders, "Want to start making our way to class?"

"History?" Rachel asked, her dark lips pursing. Then, after Santana's nod, she shrugged, the ghost of a smile turning her lips up, "Sure."

Unlocking her wheels, Santana grinned up at her. Waiting for a pause in the traffic flow, she rolled out into the hallway, having to suppress an even sillier grin when Rachel joined her.

Though she knew it was too soon to offer Rachel a ride, Santana hoped it would happen. Someday. She really, _really_ hoped it happened someday. And she really, _really_ hoped that that someday was _sooner_, not later.

Because if Rachel could accept her wheelchair, she could accept the other thing… Right?


	2. Chapter 1

"You don't have too many friends, do you?" Rachel asked the next day after she met Santana at her locker.

Kind of blindsided by the question, Santana didn't answer right away. "Most people don't pay attention to the kid in the wheelchair," she shrugged. "But it's not like I have leprosy, so I do okay."

Leaning back against the locker next to hers, Rachel crossed her arms, her chin almost disappearing into the collar of her gothic-style blouse. Her expression was inscrutable. "Is that why you came up to me? Because I don't have many friends either?"

Her eyes widening, Santana stared down at the notebook she needed for her art class. "I was knocked into you, remember?" she opened her backpack, stuffing the notebook into it, looking past the edge of her glasses to see if Rachel was buying it.

"Okay, let's pretend I believe you." Her voice laced with amusement, Rachel straightened when Santana, finished with her locker, closed it and turned her wheelchair to better face her, "Would you have talked to me otherwise?"

"I… Yes." Praying the red wasn't showing on her cheeks, Santana nodded. Of course she would have.

Rachel blinked, obviously not having expected that answer. "Really?" she blurted, then shook her head, wincing. "Really?" she asked purposefully more subdued, and Santana nodded again, adjusting her glasses. "Why?"

What was Santana supposed to say to that? She'd _just _made contact with Rachel. What could she say that wouldn't scare her away? 'I wanted to talk to you because I've fallen for you without talking to you?' 'I wanted to talk to you because just looking at you makes me harder than I've ever been?' 'I wanted to talk to you because you make my heart pound and I want to get to know you?' Still staring up Rachel, Santana swallowed. She counted it as a miracle that her voice didn't break, "Because you intrigue me?"

Rachel's nose scrunched as confusion crossed her face. "I…" She trailed off, eyebrows furrowing as she blinked, moving her head back, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to respond with."

"Not running away and-or slapping me?" Santana asked hopefully, curling her fingers into her pant leg. _Because you intrigue me_? She should have just blurted out that she wanted to hump her instead; it wouldn't have sounded as bad.

Black lips twitched, and Rachel was suddenly bending down, placing a palm onto the arm of Santana's chair to balance herself. "While dramatic," she smiled slightly, "I think I'd rather find out why you think that."

Santana could only swallow again, her back stiff as her eyes darted from Rachel's to her lips to her hair to the glances she couldn't help taking at her chest, even if she couldn't see any cleavage. She had to squeeze her backpack in her lap to stop or hide the stirring between her legs. But when she opened her mouth to babble something else out, Rachel was already pulling away, sliding around behind her. Feeling her hands wrap around the push handles, Santana tilted her head up and back, as much as she could do without straining her neck.

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. "Is it okay to push you?"

Santana could feel her slow, wide smile before it appeared. "Sure," she nodded, turning back to face the front, adjusting her glasses as a device to distract herself. Rachel being behind her, while still exciting, meant that she wasn't in Santana's visual space anymore. But she was _behind _her. What would she be looking at? Santana had washed the conditioner out of her hair that morning, hadn't she? Oh god. How could she touch her hair without making it obvious?

"Did you finish your homework?"

"What?" Her immediate question coming out high and weak as she was too busy concentrating on _feeling_ her hair through her scalp and deconstructing how Rachel was pushing her, Santana had to cough, trying again, "What?"

There was a light chuckle. "I asked if you finished your homework. Mr. Schuester had assigned us a bit more than usual." Pretty smoothly moving Santana forward after just a second of compacted strength, having to increase her drive before Santana actually started moving, Rachel was doing a good job of steering them clear from anyone and any obstacles she could predict to be dodged.

"Oh." Santana nodded, "Yes. I don't have much to do after school except for the days I can make it to the skate park." She couldn't feel anything wrong with her hair. Good.

"Skate park?"

Hearing the curious tone in Rachel's voice, Santana pushed against an arm of her chair to twist around. "Yeah. Instead of a skateboard, I have my wheelchair. It's fun," she nodded, preening a little as she could see Rachel's eyes widening in grudging admiration, "And it helps me stay in shape."

A dark lip getting sucked into Rachel's mouth made Santana turn back around, having to grip her backpack tightly again. "…Wow," Rachel answered, "I think it's really good you do that. I mean…"

"I know what you mean," one side of Santana's lips turned up, and she meant it when she said, "It's okay."


	3. Chapter 2

A week later, it was finally feeling like Santana could maybe possibly potentially stop worrying that Rachel wasn't going to ever show up at Santana's locker and wait for her again. She was still going to worry, of course, but at least she was relaxing about worrying.

When the weekend had come, Santana had waited for the last minute before she had to lift herself into her brother's car so she could watch Rachel send her a small wave before disappearing into her fathers' car; raising her own hand in return, she hadn't done a very good job of smushing down the apprehension that Rachel would forget about her entirely during the next two days. They hadn't exchanged phone numbers, or anything like that, and Santana had spent the next two days practically banging her head against the walls of her house because of it.

But on Monday, Rachel had shown back up at her locker, instantly making the tight feeling in Santana's chest ease. "Hey," she'd greeted, reining in her enthusiasm as best as she could into a medium-sized smile.

And, shoulders rising, resettling on her feet, Rachel had nodded, smiling medium-sizedly back. "Hey."

That exchange had become somewhat of a mini ritual for them as much as it could in three days time, smiles and shrugs having to be completed before they could segue into the more situational "How was your evening?"s and "Finish all of your homework?"s.

It was nice to have someone else she could talk to during the day.

Rachel was just as fascinating as Santana had predicted her to be. Quiet, with an intensity amplified by her fashion, the only drawback was that Santana's crush on the girl hadn't quieted down, and didn't seem like it was going to any time soon. Because every new thing Santana found out about or observed of Rachel was pretty much… Exactly what Santana was attracted to.

And not just emotionally.

Sure, Santana had known that getting closer to Rachel would mean she'd be _getting closer to her_, but she hadn't really… To be honest… Thought it all the way through.

Like now. It was lunchtime, Santana having already staked out her usual spot next to Brittany and Finn, doing her best to keep up with the conversation about the latest fashions and Broadway icons while her heart was hammering in her chest as she waited for Rachel to show up. Wheeled as close to the table as she could, one hand curled nonchalantly in her lap as her other poked a fork at what the cafeteria pretended was macaroni salad, her eyes were madly flitting back and forth between the two doors.

That day, Rachel had been wearing a tight black shirt under a looser black mesh top, long black fingerless gloves going up to almost the crook of her elbows. She had a black mini-skirt on over black tights, leading down to black high-top All Stars, and Santana had been ogling her legs and waist and hips all throughout class and in the halls. She was way too attractive. Too sexy.

Almost too much for Santana's hormones to handle…

Especially since they shared the same lunch hour and it had only taken Santana two days to gather up the courage to invite Rachel to eat with her and her friends.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, a voice that headed straight to her crotch in a mixture of startlement and instant awareness whispering, "Boo."

"Gah!" Santana slammed her hand against the table, sending her plastic fork skittering across the table and into Brittany's milk carton. Her other hand slapping over her crotch as a reactionary twitch threatened to turn into a half-boner at the sound of Rachel's quiet chuckling, Santana almost wheezed, trying to get her breathing and heart back under control. She knew her face was bright red.

Finn and Brittany's half-laughter, half-concern didn't help, either.

Taking the open seat next to her, Rachel scooped up Santana's errant fork, putting it back onto Santana's abandoned tray. "I'm sorry," she pushed her thick blue bang behind her ear, smiling apologetically at Santana, "You okay?"

"Yeah." Santana put up one hand, breathing in deeply and wanting to get the attention off of her as quickly as she could, "I'm fine. Jeez."

"Nice one," Brittany complimented in between bites of her tater tots, bobbing her head.

Finn, still laughing, shook his head. Picking up his turkey sandwich, he asked Santana, "When're you going to stop blushing?"

"Shut it," Santana responded, narrowing her eyes at her friend and running her hand through her hair after pushing her glasses back up on her nose. Assured that her erection was subsiding just as long as she didn't look fully at Rachel, she straightened and stately picked up her fork. "Now?" She could feel a blush still on the tips of her ears.

Brittany gave her a thumbs up.

"Looks good," Rachel chimed in, pulling her backpack up between her legs so she could unzip it. Trying and failing from dipping her gaze to Rachel's thighs, Santana snapped her eyes back to her macaroni salad.

"Good," she mumbled, stuffing her fork into her mouth and shrugging, doing her best not to eat stupidly. With Rachel so close to her, she wasn't quite sure she could achieve that, however.

Finishing his bite of sandwich, Finn pulled his napkin up to his mouth, clearing his throat. "So," he smiled, eyes starting to twinkle under his paper boy cap, "Has anyone seen the flyers for the new club?"

Brittany paused, Santana's eyebrows quirking up as Rachel slowed her retrieval of her sack lunch. "No?" Santana asked curiously. She called it a win when she only glanced at Rachel once. Or twice. Okay, twice with a guilty lingering study of her thin, strong arms and fleeting look at her chest.

Fortunately, no one caught her because Finn was leaning in, voice deepening with excitement even as he whispered for dramatics to make sure they were all listening to him, "Mr. Schuester's starting up the glee club again!"


	4. Chapter 3

"You know, it's kind of weird that all you guys can sing."

Looking up, twisting as best as she could to look at the girl pushing her to their history class, Santana raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Rachel pursed her lips. "I'm just saying that what's the chance that the three of you found each other, and you all," she paused, smirking lightly at Santana, "'Have amazing voices?'"

"Hey, it's true. Brittany and Finn are really good." Turning back around, Santana sighed, hands tensing around each other in her lap.

"And you?"

Santana shrugged. "I'm okay. I wish my voice was higher, but…" She trailed off. "It's, it's fine," she forced a smile. _Change the subject_. "Do you sing?"

There was a couple of seconds silence. But, just as Santana was contemplating turning around again, Rachel answered. "A little."

"Then you should sign up with us!" Santana blurted. She'd actually been trying to figure out how to broach the subject without bursting out of the blue, as she'd missed her chance during lunch when she'd allowed Finn and Brittany to dominate the conversation about solos and performing and how they might actually get _popular _if they did well. She actually hadn't wanted to seem too interested in the club if Rachel wasn't – she'd still join it, of course, even if Rachel wasn't, but she wouldn't make it the sole topic of their conversations. Santana _was_ just learning about Rachel's likes and tastes, after all.

"How do you know I'm any good?" Santana could hear her quirked eyebrow.

Santana opened her mouth. 'Because the rest of you is good? Because you _can't_ not be good? Because your voice already makes me shiver and become hot and cold and so if you sang I'd probably die?' She grimaced. "Well," she hedged, picking at her left glove, "Even if you aren't, I'm sure glee would help you. I'd help you."

Warm breath suddenly washed over the top of her head, ruffling her hair as their trek slowed. "You really are nice," Rachel whispered, then straightened, walking around Santana.

"We're here?" Santana couldn't stop herself from asking even though she could see, quite clearly, that they _weren't_ where they were headed. But her mind was more on the heat rolling down her neck, sue her.

Rachel gave her a small smile. "No, not yet. I just need to get something from the art room. I'll be just a sec."

"Okay," Santana started, smiling up at her and taking hold of her wheels to keep herself stationary, but Rachel had already disappeared into the classroom, black jacket fluttering behind her. Immediately, Santana let out a deep breath, slumping in her chair. Did she _really _want to be in glee club? Yes, she loved singing and performing, but… She couldn't help thinking it wouldn't help anything with her 'problem'.

"Well, look at this," a familiar voice laughed, a tall male cheerleader walking up, his ever-present best friend Mercedes right behind him, "Four Eyes McWheels. How cute. It's like you're a baby in a baby carriage waiting for your mommy to come back."

Santana colored. "Hello, Artie," she muttered, shoulders tensing, "What do you want?"

"Nothing much." Artie shrugged, producing a slushie Santana hadn't noticed near his hip, "It's just baby's bath time."

Purple ice and slush splattered over her face and glasses, dripping down her neck and into her sweater. Her hands, which she had thrown up at Mercedes' warning laugh, immediately cringed as slushie managed to worm its way into her gloves; she wasn't surprised when her wheelchair rolled a couple of inches until the footrest and presumably tips of her shoes hit the wall, stopping her. Shaking, trying to breathe normally, she dug out the slushie over her eyes. "Thank you," she said hoarsely, tongue darting out to taste chemical grape. It was her only way of keeping some dignity.

"Don't mention it," Artie smirked, sliding his arm over Mercedes' shoulders. "C'mon, 'Cedes. Time to gets some more ammunition."

As their footsteps faded away, most of the other students' nervous and honest laughter fading as well, Santana lifted her head at Rachel's voice. She didn't dare open her eyes yet, knowing that even with her glasses as a barrier, it wouldn't help stop the stinging if any slushie successfully slipped in. It was the melting that was the worst.

"Here," Rachel shoved some sort of fabric at Santana, pushing it into her hand, "Let that soak up the worst of it. And, I'll take these." Feeling her glasses getting tugged off of her face, Santana mumbled a thank you. The fabric, whatever it was, smelled a tiny bit like some sort of fruit that she could most likely equate with peaches. Peaches? Well, whatever it was, it was a nice small change from grape. "My locker," she grunted, "Change of shirt."

"No," Rachel disagreed, pulling her back from the wall and slowly wheeling her around. "First a bathroom. I can always get your shirt for you while you start. And, are you – can you tell if… If your feet are okay?" She trailed off. Then, "You're lucky your hair's so short," she added, almost to herself, hurrying on.

Santana clenched her jaw. "_Locker_. Locker, please."

"Santana, I know from personal experience that it would be better to – "

"_Rachel_," Santana stressed, shaking her head, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks as the slushie seeped in, making her eyes burn, "My locker. Th-then the handicapped bathroom. It's bigger." _And unisex_. She'd be much more comfortable in there.

Rachel sighed, but started picking up her feet. "Okay," she said quietly, "I can't believe they deliberately threw it at your eyes."

It was weird, being a passive passenger in her own wheelchair without being able to see. But Santana trusted Rachel. _Had_ to trust Rachel. Santana wasn't Houdini, after all.

"He," Santana corrected, "Artie did. I'm sorry I'm making you push me." Even though the fabric was doing a lot to help, Santana still didn't want to chance opening her eyes. Her heart sunk, fearing this was too much work or too much of a problem for Rachel to stick around.

Rachel's voice barely noticeably softened, "I don't mind. I mean it. You're the only person to come up to me _without _questions about devil worshipping or to ask me where I get my blood supply." Her words smirked, "Unlike Principle Figgins seems to think, I am unfortunately _not_ a vampire."

Santana managed a short laugh. "It's a good thing your name's not Carmilla, or you wouldn't be – mm, _ouch_ – living up to your reputation." God, her eyes were a watery mess of tears and slush and _pain_. What was _in _that slushie?

The wheelchair jerked, almost starting to coast forward with momentum before Rachel obviously remembered herself and jogged-skipped up to keep with it. "You… You know _Carmilla_?"

Oh crap. Maybe Santana shouldn't have said anything. There were really only two reasons she'd have read the 1872 novella: lesbian interest or vampires. And Santana wasn't really into vampires unless Rachel had actually been one, though the other one wasn't really... _H__ey_! _Rachel knew about Carmilla_.

"No, wait, never mind, your locker combination? We're here," Rachel added, slowing down, "You can change it afterwards."

"Lucky we weren't that far away," Santana grunted, then recited the combination. She didn't _think_ there was anything embarrassing or… _Telling_ in her locker. Just her extra sweater and shirt combo she always made sure to bring to school each morning. And it wasn't like Rachel could tell anything from _that_.

After a couple of seconds of Rachel repeating the combination out loud as she twisted the dial and Santana turning the fabric over, hoping it was dryer on the other side, Rachel finally got the lock open. "Finally. Good. Black bag? Okay. Okay, got it. Let's go."


End file.
